


A Feeling

by takipariu



Category: Original Work
Genre: Corona Virus Quarantine, Daydreaming, Ficlet, I Wrote This Instead of Sleeping, My First Fanfic, Quarantine, Self-Reflection, Short One Shot, Short Story, Sunsets, Window, Wordcount: 100-500, late night philosophy, lockdown - Freeform, what else? uuuuh, you - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-04
Updated: 2020-04-04
Packaged: 2021-02-28 20:27:18
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 496
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23473231
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/takipariu/pseuds/takipariu
Summary: You should be doing your homework now, but the sky looks so gorgeous it's daring you not to perch up and take a better look.------Just a fandom-less, relationship-less little story about this weird feeling of being stuck in quarantine and having no tangible connection to the outside world other than the windows.
Kudos: 2





	A Feeling

the day was ending fast. you didn't do all the assignments you were supposed to.   
the sky, it's beckoning you near, though. almost taunting you.   
the west facing window is above your dresser, so you do what any intelligent person would and ditch the assignment to perch up on the top of the dresser and have a peek.  
there's barely room for you up here, isn't there? you hold on for dear life to the window grid, kneeling on the dresser.   
the sight, you've seen it a thousand times before. the neighboring apartment building blocking most of the sunset, the little bit of skyline far off in the horizon, the roofs of the houses down there. white, blue, red. the trees in the yards of those houses, the street, the little bit of sunset you can see. green, black, orange.  
the street, oh, it's so still today. you can hear a single bird chirping, and that's that. the air, thankfully it isn't so still. is it eager to tell you the news? or maybe eager to play with the leaves below? a hand is reached out in hopes of calling forth the wind.  
both hands streched outside now. feels good not to serve any purpose here. the arms, you.   
so would it make a difference to anyone if you jump off? is what your mind says unseemly. a thought to be shushed away: you read about the little urge one has to jump when looking at high places just yesterday.   
it would be nice to jump as a bird, not as a lame wingless human. now that's a thought to welcome. you've thought of it so much it's routine. the wings, the view, the soaring, the breeze.  
the breeze, such a telltale, it said that that your mother was smoking again. your nose rushes you to wait inside until her smoke is gone.   
out is your head again. someone inside their flat is murdering someone. someone else is flying, someone else is jumping off the window, someone is breaking down, someone is getting older, someone is dancing ostensibly, someone is crying, someone is reading, someone is sweeping the floor. what?  
where lies the lack of respect, in an eye who sees this or in a brain that makes it up? the eye thinks it's in the windows who display it to the world. the brain sees why that is true. those unthoughtful, indiscrete windows.   
the windows display their point of view. one should look at anything else, not what goes on inside them.  
you try, even. but the flats are just flat flat flat flat flat. the people shine more light into the city than their light bulbs ever could.   
one of them comes alive on the horizon. then the second, then the third. the sun's descent progressed considerably since you climbed up here. now the sky is rich dark purple, like the neons of the pizza place, so you follow them. nice, content and lilac.


End file.
